Reichel's room did not change when the combat ended, but the screens did, not in their form, but in the content they held; each one displayed a different reality of the same point that had been forced until it broke. The street in front of the facility was no longer an active field of exchange, but a surface marked by accumulated consequences that could not be hidden or arranged into a single reading. The nearby buildings did not remain intact, not as independent structures, but as parts of a system that had been compromised in sequence: one giving way after another in an effect that did not require speed to be destructive; the initial loss of balance was enough for the rest to follow, inclinations that turned into collapse, fragments dragging other fragments, generating a sequence that could not be stopped once initiated.

From the perspective of the cameras, the phenomenon was not immediate, it was progressive. A building began to give way at its base, not in a clean manner, but with an irregular displacement that altered its own weight, and that change was transmitted to the sides: nearby structures, already weakened by the previous impact of heavy weaponry, began to respond to that secondary pressure; their walls did not resist as they would have under normal conditions, but instead adapted to the collapse of what was beside them, fragmenting into pieces that did not retain their original form upon hitting the ground.

It was not an explosion, it was a sequence, an accumulated instability that advanced like a slow, but inevitable reaction.

In the middle of that scenario, the combatants of the facility did not scatter nor stop to observe what was happening beyond their immediate function; their movements remained ordered, returning inside with the same discipline with which they had come out, not running nor relaxing, but reintegrating into the system that had deployed them.

Reichel observed with his head slightly tilted, his eyes reflecting multiple screens at the same time, his posture relaxed, but his attention fully present in every change that was being recorded.

—This… —he murmured, letting out a small laugh that did not break the tone of the scene—. This is going to cost a lot of money.

There was no real concern in his words, there was calculation.

—Good thing the conglomerate generates billions —he added, resting his chin on the back of his hand with an almost careless gesture—. Because if not…

He did not finish the sentence, it was not necessary.

Selena did not avert her gaze from the screens.

—Approximately twenty billion units —she responded calmly, as if she were not speaking of a figure that exceeded any common scale—. Only in this area.

Reichel let the air out through his nose, a longer exhalation this time, but not heavy.

—You should raise my salary —he said, turning his head slightly toward Selena without losing his light tone—. I think I'm working below what I'm worth.

Selena did not change her expression.

—I'll consider it.

There was no further development in that line, because it was not needed.

The system interrupted it, not with an alarm, but with a variation.

The screens did not turn off nor change channels abruptly, but one of them showed something that did not correspond with the sequence that was unfolding: an alteration in the image that could not be attributed to structural damage nor to mechanical interference, a brief, localized distortion, as if space itself had lost continuity for an instant.

Reichel stopped smiling, not out of panic, but because something did not fit.

His fingers moved over the keyboard without anyone asking him to, enlarging the affected area on the main screen, isolating the point where the anomaly had been recorded.

—That is not… —he murmured, not finishing the sentence.

The image stabilized.

And then it repeated, but not the same.

The distortion was not a failure, it was a transition.

The air at that point did not move as it would with the impact of an object; it did not disperse outward, it compressed inward, as if something were taking shape in a space that had not been designed to contain it. There was no initial sound nor prior light, only a presence that was not being constructed from the outside, but from a layer that had not been visible until that moment.

The dragon did not appear complete, it defined itself. First a line, then a curve, then the body; not solid, not completely, translucent, as if it were made of an energy that did not finish deciding whether it belonged to that plane or to another. Its elongated form cut through the air without generating conventional resistance, but it altered everything it touched.

When it impacted the debris, it did not displace them, it unmade them. The structure that was already giving way did not have the opportunity to complete its fall; the fragments fragmented even further, converted into particles that did not retain their original form, released into a dispersion that did not obey immediate gravity, but to a force that reorganized them in the very instant in which they were passed through.

The effect did not expand chaotically, it was contained, directed.

And in that moment, the tone of the room changed.

Reichel did not look away, but his expression was no longer the same.

—That… —he said, now without a trace of lightness—. That is not normal.

There was no open fear in his voice, but there was recognition.

—That is dangerous.

Selena did not react to the manifestation itself, she reacted to its origin.

—Switch to the left side camera —she indicated, without raising her tone—. The one that covers the blind angle of the impact.

She did not explain why, she did not need to.

Reichel obeyed.

He did not hesitate. His fingers executed the order with precision, changing the image source without wasting time on unnecessary transitions.

The new camera did not capture the event, it captured the cause.

The figure was not in motion, it was not running nor attacking at that moment, it was simply there.

A young man. Dark skin. Black hair. Leather clothing that did not reflect light in the same way as the surroundings.

On his right shoulder, the presence.

Narka, reduced, motionless, observing.

And in his left hand, the body.

Not held with care nor treated as something that could break further, hanging, incomplete, silent.

The image did not need additional zoom to understand what it showed.

Reichel did not say anything immediately, he did not look away, but something in his posture changed. It was not pure fear, it was late understanding.

—That… is not what I expected —he murmured, his voice lower, more contained, as if speaking too loudly could alter what he was seeing.

Selena did not avert her gaze.

—It's him —she said.

She did not explain further, she did not need to.

The name was not spoken, but it was not necessary.

Because at that moment, what was happening no longer belonged to the same level as what they had been observing minutes before.

And both of them knew it.

The image did not fade immediately from the screens, but it did not remain static like a record that could be analyzed calmly either; what they had seen was not just another piece of data within the system, it was not a reading that could be archived and compared with others, and that change did not manifest in the software nor in the sensors, but in the silence that remained between them when confirmation stopped being necessary. Selena did not take her eyes off the main screen for a few more seconds, not seeking more information, but verifying that what she had seen was not a mistaken interpretation, while Reichel, who would normally have filled that space with some light remark, did not speak immediately, his expression held at a point where curiosity and alertness coexisted without resolving.

—He's not an enemy —Selena finally said, without raising her voice nor modifying her posture, as if that statement were enough to reorganize the situation—. He's an ally.

She did not present it as a possibility, she established it.

—It's him —she added, without needing to mention any name—. The person I told you about.

Reichel did not respond immediately. He inhaled, held the air a second longer than necessary and let it out with a slowness that was not dramatized, but measured, as if that gesture were enough to readjust his own state before returning to his usual tone. His shoulders did not tense nor did he step back, and when he spoke he did so with that light nuance that did not eliminate the seriousness of the moment, but that also did not allow the environment to absorb it completely.

—So… —he murmured, tilting his head slightly, as if reorganizing the information within his own logic—. is that the one responsible for you being like this?

There was no direct mockery, but there was intent.

—Interesting choice —he added, a slight smile forming on his face.

Selena did not react to the insinuation.

—Don't make unnecessary jokes —she replied, her tone steady, cold on the surface, but without forced harshness—. He already has a partner.

Reichel raised an eyebrow, slightly turning the chair toward her.

—Really? —he said, looking at the screen again—. He doesn't look like a teenager.

—He is —Selena replied without changing her expression—. And he is a reliable ally.

The statement did not extend, it did not need additional defense.

The silence that followed was not uncomfortable, but it was brief, because the next decision did not require prolonged deliberation.

—Let's go —Selena indicated, finally stepping away from the screen—. Let's go receive him.

She did not add "if you want," she did not present it as an option.

—And what he brought.

Reichel did not take long to stand, supporting himself with one hand on the desk before fully rising, his smile returning, not as marked as before, but enough to recover his natural rhythm.

—Of course —he replied—. I wouldn't miss this for anything.

The walk to the door was not rushed, but neither slow. The room was left behind without needing to be observed one last time, and the exterior hallway, wide, silent, illuminated with a regularity that did not leave unnecessary shadows, offered no distraction. Their steps did not echo loudly, but enough to mark the advance, a movement that was neither ceremonial nor urgent, but direct.

The elevator did not take long to respond. The doors opened without delay and both entered without additional exchange of words. The interior space was not excessively large, but enough to not generate forced proximity, and when the doors closed, the vertical movement began without jolts, without visible transition between start and displacement, as if the system had already anticipated their destination.

Reichel leaned his back against one of the walls, crossing his arms without tension.

—This I didn't expect —he commented, looking forward without needing to focus on anything in particular—. I thought your situation would be more… complicated.

Selena did not respond immediately.

—It is —she said in the end.

She did not elaborate.

The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and the change was immediate.

The upper level was not in chaos, but it was not at rest either. The combatants were there, positioned in a perimeter that had not been improvised, their weapons raised, pointing toward a central point that did not move. There were no gunshots nor loud orders, but the tension was absolute, an invisible line that kept everyone at the exact limit where a wrong action could trigger something none of them were prepared to handle.

At the center of that space, Sebastián.

He did not advance nor retreat, he was simply there. His posture did not show active combat readiness, but neither relaxation, his presence occupying the space without needing to expand, and on his shoulder, Narka, reduced, motionless, his golden eyes open, attentive, as if they registered every minimal variation in the environment.

In his hand, the body, hanging, without structure to support it beyond the grip.

Reichel took a step out of the elevator, and the air changed, not in composition, in weight. Breathing did not become impossible, but it ceased to be automatic. Her chest expanded with more effort than usual, not due to lack of capacity, but because something in that space did not allow the process to be completely free. Her gaze lifted without conscious intent, seeking the origin of that pressure that had no visible form.

And she found it.

Sebastián's eyes did not shine, they did not emit light, but they were not normal. The red was not uniform, it moved, it rotated in a structure that did not remain fixed, as if within the iris there existed a constant dynamic that did not stop, a pattern that absorbed attention longer than it should.

Reichel remained still, not by decision, by reaction. She did not look away immediately, and in that brief instant, where her perception lingered longer than necessary, the sensation of pressure reached its highest point.

Then it disappeared, not gradually, directly, as if the one generating it had decided it was no longer necessary.

Sebastián spoke.

—Good evening, Selena.

His voice was not raised, but neither light. It had weight, not in volume, in presence.

The body he held was not placed with care, he let it fall, he did not throw it, but neither did he treat it as something that needed to be preserved. The impact against the ground was not violent in sound, but enough to mark its state.

—That man —he added, without taking his eyes off Selena— was part of those who attacked.

He did not explain further, he did not justify, he did not ask. His function at that point had already been fulfilled.

Narka did not move, did not speak, but his attention did not shift at any moment.

Sebastián turned, not abruptly nor as a forced retreat, but as a continuation.

He took one step.

Then another, and in the next instant his presence stopped occupying the center, not because he had vanished in spectacle, but because he was no longer there. The sound that remained was not an explosion, it was displacement, brief, dry, sufficient.

The space readjusted.

The combatants did not lower their weapons immediately, they did not run, they did not speak, they only observed the point where he had been, and then the body on the ground.

Reichel did not move for one more second, then she breathed, normally, for the first time since she had stepped out of the elevator.

—That… —she murmured, without completing the sentence.

Selena did not respond, she did not need to, because both of them knew that what had just occurred could not be classified within what they had been facing up to that moment.

The air did not recover its lightness immediately after the departure, not because something remained physically in the place, but because the memory of what had occupied that space did not dissipate with the same ease with which a presence withdraws. The combatants did not lower their weapons in a synchronized manner, they did it in minimal intervals, one after another, as if each one needed to confirm for themselves that there was nothing left to hold in their sights, and even so none of them fully relaxed, their postures remaining functional, ready, as if the body refused to accept that the tension had ended as quickly as it had arrived.

Selena did not move immediately. She remained where she was, observing the point where Sebastián had been moments before, not with the expectation that he would return, but as if that space still had something to offer if the gaze were held long enough. She did not do it out of doubt, she did it out of calculation, and when she finally shifted her attention it was not toward the general surroundings, but toward herself.

Reichel was the first to break that inertia, not with words, but with a simple gesture that did not seek to hide anything: she lifted the edge of her clothing and passed the fabric across her forehead, wiping away the sweat that she had not noticed until that moment, not because it was not there, but because her mind had been occupied processing something that could not be reduced to a simple reaction.

—Definitely… —she murmured, letting the air out with a slight exhalation longer than usual—. After this, I need a shower.

It did not sound like a complaint, it sounded like a conclusion.

—I don't like smelling like fear —she added, recovering part of her light tone, though not completely.

Selena replied without taking her eyes off the body on the ground.

—That's reasonable.

She did not add more, because it was not necessary.

The body had not changed since it had been left there, but the way it was perceived now did. Without the pressure of the presence that had brought it, what remained of it could be observed with greater clarity, not as an object in transit, but as a result.

Selena advanced, not fast nor slow, enough to close the distance without interrupting the reading she was already making. She stopped one step away, slightly tilting her head, her eyes scanning what remained of the man's structure, not with repulsion nor with superficial curiosity, but with direct, precise analysis.

He was not dead, not completely.

The inconsistency in his breathing was not chaotic, it was irregular, but sustained, as if something inside him maintained active functions despite the evident state of external destruction. The wounds did not require additional interpretation; the absence of parts, the exposure of others, the way the body had been reduced did not correspond to conventional damage, and even so, what stood out the most was not the magnitude of the impact, it was the absence of the expected physiological response.

—Reichel —she called.

She did not raise her voice, it was not necessary.

Reichel was already approaching. Her step was not rushed, but neither careless. She stopped beside Selena, leaning slightly to observe the body from a shorter distance, and at that first visual contact, her reaction was not completely contained.

A brief sound escaped her, not an open or exaggerated scream, but enough to mark the initial impact.

—… —she exhaled, before composing herself—. That is not normal.

It was not a superficial observation, it was an initial diagnosis.

—The person you're interested in is… quite direct —she added, her tone recovering that light nuance she used as a tool rather than as an emotional reflection—. Leaving someone like this does not exactly fall into the category of "standard treatment."

Selena did not respond immediately.

—He does not hesitate —she said in the end—. If necessary, he kills.

She did not justify nor soften, she only established.

Reichel let out a small laugh through her nose.

—Good thing he's on our side —she commented, before changing position.

She crouched, not carelessly, with intent. Her hand did not touch the body immediately, first she observed, visually scanning the key points: the texture of the skin, the way the muscles were maintained, the response —or the lack of it— in the compromised areas, and when she finally made contact it was not abrupt, it was measured.

She pressed, evaluated, compared.

—… —she remained silent for a few more seconds, focused—. This is interesting.

She did not sound impressed, she sounded intrigued.

—The skin is not normal —she continued, her voice low, more focused—. The density… does not correspond to standard human tissue.

She shifted her hand slightly.

—And the muscles… are in the same range.

She did not lift her gaze.

—This is not just external resistance, it is structural.

Selena did not intervene, she let her finish.

—And the bleeding… —Reichel added, leaning a bit more toward the area where the eye was missing—. It should be much greater. Pause. —But it isn't. She exhaled. —It's contained.

Not as a casual observation, as a conclusion.

She remained in that position for a few more seconds, as if reorganizing what she had seen into a broader frame, and then, without entirely losing her usual tone, she added:

—If this is the kind of things that interest you… —she murmured, a slight smile appearing—. I think your standard is higher than I expected.

Selena did not take her eyes off the body.

—Sebastián… —she said for the first time out loud— is not a common person.

She did not say it as a warning, she said it as acceptance.

Reichel raised her gaze toward her, her smile widening slightly.

—I already noticed —she replied—. I knew you wouldn't choose someone normal… but this…

She did not finish the sentence, it was not necessary.

She straightened up, not completely upright, but enough to return to a functional posture.

—We're going to need time with this —she added, looking at the body again—. And a suitable space.

Selena nodded slightly.

—Take him to the lower level —she ordered, without raising her voice—. Preparation for full analysis.

The combatants did not respond with words, they moved. Two of them advanced, not with urgency, but with precision, lifting what remained of the body with enough care not to interfere with its current state, but without treating it as something fragile.

Reichel stepped back one pace.

—I think what's left of the night is going to be long —she commented, slightly stretching her arms, as if releasing the accumulated tension—. But at least it won't be boring.

Selena shifted her gaze toward her for an instant.

—It won't be.

Reichel smiled.

—Good —she replied—. That way we can talk calmly.

She did not add more, but she did not need to, because the night was not over yet.

The movement within the facility did not stop when the combat ended, but it did change in nature, leaving behind the immediate urgency to transform into an organized flow that did not seek to respond to an active threat, but to restore the balance of a system that had been pushed to its limit. The combatants did not remain in the upper area longer than necessary; their figures disappeared in controlled groups through internal accesses that did not require verbal instructions, each one knowing exactly where they had to go, their weapons still in hand, but no longer aimed nor under direct pressure, as if the body began to slowly accept that the violence had ceased, even though the mind did not completely let go of it.

The space was left emptier than it had been minutes before, not because it had been freed of human presence, but because the tension that filled it was no longer there to sustain it, and that change was neither immediate nor comfortable. Selena did not observe that process for long, she did not need to; her attention had shifted to a more internal layer, where the body began to register what the mind had kept in the background.

The sweat was not evident until it stopped being irrelevant. The breathing had not been irregular, but neither completely natural, and when both factors converged in her awareness, the conclusion was immediate.

—Let's go —she said, without raising her voice.

It was not an order directed at the environment, it was a shared decision.

Reichel did not respond with words at first, but her body was already in motion when Selena took the first step, following the direction without needing to question it, as if that path had been implicit before being spoken. They did not return to the room, they did not look for another analysis room nor prolong the interaction with what had happened; they chose to move toward an area where the environment did not demand constant reaction.

The hallways were not empty, but they were more contained; the personnel who remained active did not cross their paths without reason, and access to the bathroom area did not involve delay nor additional inspection. The space they entered was not excessively luxurious, but perfectly designed, clean surfaces, controlled lighting, a structure conceived not for superficial comfort, but for efficient functionality.

The sound of water began before either of them spoke again, not as just another environmental element, but as a cut. The constant, uniform fall, without interruptions, filled the space in a way that did not demand direct attention, but prevented the silence from becoming heavy. Reichel was the first to let that sound impose itself, slightly tilting her head back while the water ran over her face, dragging the sweat that had remained adhered without her noticing, sliding over her skin with a naturalness that had no relation to the combat, but that did respond to what had remained after it.

—…This was necessary —she murmured, letting the air out with a lighter nuance, but without fully recovering her usual tone.

It was not a complaint, it was a statement.

Selena did not respond immediately. She remained under the flow of water with the same stability with which she had faced the rest of the day, but her stillness was not the same, it was not sustained by external control, but by an internal reorganization that did not require movement to execute. The water did not change what had happened, it did not erase the memory of the event, but it did remove what the body no longer needed to keep.

—Yes —she finally replied.

She did not add more.

Reichel let out a small laugh through her nose, not mocking, not completely carefree, but enough to mark a difference with the previous silence.

—Even so… —she added, running a hand through her wet hair—. I didn't expect your "emotional problem" to have that form.

There was no direct irony, there was curiosity.

Selena did not turn her head to look at her.

—It is not a problem in that sense —she said—. It is a variable.

She did not explain it, but she did not need to.

Reichel nodded slightly, even though Selena was not looking at her.

—A fairly… dominant variable —she commented, letting the water keep falling without trying to move away from it—. I don't think it can be ignored easily.

Selena did not respond immediately, because it was not necessary.

The time under the water did not extend beyond the functional. They did not seek complete relaxation nor did they remain in that state beyond what was necessary to restore the body to a point where it could continue operating without carrying what came before. When they came out, the silence did not return in the same way as before; it had changed, not in absence of sound, but in weight.

They did not return to Reichel's room, they did not consider it. The next movement was not implicit, it was directed. The transition was not marked with words, but with a change of environment that did not need explanation.

The space where Helena was did not share the same temperature nor the same intention as the rest of the facility. The room was not physically cold, but it was functionally cold, each element arranged with a precision that did not leave room for unnecessary interpretations. Doctor Jorge was not standing, but neither completely relaxed, his posture indicating that his mind remained active, reviewing, processing, reorganizing the information that had been obtained up to that point.

Helena was not observing the environment, she was observing data. The projections in front of her were not chaotic, they were organized in layers that could be traversed without losing coherence, and her gaze did not stop at a specific point longer than necessary, advancing with a logic that did not require external verbalization.

—The structure of the body… —the doctor began, without raising his voice—. Does not correspond to any known human standard.

Helena did not respond immediately.

—It should not —she said in the end—. If it did, it would not be there.

There was no surprise in her tone, only acceptance.

—But that implies… —the doctor continued, hesitating slightly—. That the origin is not conventional.

Helena slightly inclined her head.

—It never was.

She did not take her eyes off the projections.

—What we have is not an isolated anomaly —she added—. It is a signal.

The doctor did not respond immediately.

—Of what? —he finally asked.

Helena did not need to think about it.

—Of what we are facing… —she said— is no longer within the limits we knew.

There was no dramatism in her words, it was not necessary, because both of them understood what that implied.

And neither of them took it as a surprise.

_____________________________________________

END OF CHAPTER 95

The path continues…

New chapters are revealed every

Sunday, and also between Wednesday or Thursday,

when the will of the tale so decides.

Each one leaves another scar on Sebastián's journey.

If this abyss resonated with you,

keep it in your collection

and leave a mark: a comment, a question, an echo.

Your presence keeps alive the flame that shapes this world.

Thank you for walking by my side.

If this story resonated with you, perhaps we have already crossed paths in another corner of the digital world. Over there, they know me as Goru SLG.

I want to thank from the heart all the people who are reading and supporting this work. Your time, your comments, and your support keep this world alive.

Si esta historia resonó en ti, te invito a apoyarme — tu presencia y respaldo lo hacen posible